


Writing About Studying Because I Can't Be Bothered To Do It Myself

by driedflowers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Sad Ending, Valedictorian race
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-26 03:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3834760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driedflowers/pseuds/driedflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is in fact much studying. </p>
<p>Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy have been notified that they are the top candidates for Hogwarts valedictorian. However, with his assassination plot, Malfoy doesn't have time to keep up his grades. Hermione notices that he's failed a test, and can't help but take pity on him. That's the only reason she wants to study with him, I swear. Pity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Setting the Scene...

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Harry Potter fanfiction, and also my first multi-chaptered work. I should be updating somewhat frequently, but I can't be sure. 
> 
> Also, I am American, so I apologize. On that note, I have learned that valedictorian does not exist in every country. It's an award that goes to the student with the best academic record at the end of high school. There's also the salutatorian, which is the runner up. If my definition is not up to par, google it.
> 
> Constructive criticism/suggestions would be appreciated.

Hermione bid a quick goodbye to Ron and Harry before whisking off down the stairs, in the opposite direction of the droves of students sluggishly walking towards Gryffindor tower. The feast had ended moments before, and everyone was eager to get to bed. Hermione had been feeling similarly drowsy herself, until hearing the end of Professor Dumbledore’s speech. He had asked that herself and none other than Draco Malfoy come to his office immediately, and offered no further explanation. This announcement had sent quite a few whispers across the Great Hall, but they were soon lost in the scraping of benches and the bustle to get to bed. It would be the next morning that the rumors really took off.

Hermione had no shortage of guesses as to what she could be being called in for. Perhaps she had managed to inadvertently break some rule already, even though she had combed through the rules and regulations list that summer, like every year. Or maybe there had been some mistake with her OWLs, and she wouldn’t be able to take any of her NEWT-level classes. Or maybe she was losing her status as a prefect; that would certainly explain why Malfoy had been called, too.

Hermione was feeling thoroughly nervous when she reached the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore’s office. It stepped aside as she walked up, as if it had been expecting her, and she proceeded to ascend the spiral stairs. She stepped inside the office to find Malfoy already there, looking rather uncomfortable and perched on the very edge of a chintz armchair across the desk from Professor Dumbledore.

“Miss Granger. Do sit down.” His cool tone helped ease her nerves somewhat, and she managed a small smile before taking her seat next to Malfoy, who was studiously avoiding eye contact with anything and anyone. “Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger, I am sure you are well aware of the valedictorian award that will is presented at this school. It will go to the witch or wizard with the most prestigious academic record, including OWL and NEWT scores.”

“Yes, Professor, but isn’t the award traditionally given at the end of seventh year?”

“Yes, Miss Granger. I have called the two of you here to notify you that you currently occupy the top spots in your class, and are therefore the frontrunners for this award.” Hermione could not help but smile smugly at this. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know she was at the top of her class, but it felt nice to hear it.

“Thank you, Professor,” she said. Malfoy had remained silent through all of this, and he looked as if simply being there was causing him great pain. Dumbledore smiled serenely.

“I only hope that you will continue to apply yourselves with the dedication that you have shown throughout the last five years.” Professor Dumbledore gave a strained look at Malfoy, one that Hermione had often seen on Ron’s face when he was listening to a Chudley Cannons game on the wireless. Like he was rooting for the team, but knew they would never win.

“Well, that is all. Off to bed now, both of you.” Hermione had to restrain herself from skipping out of the office and down the stairs. She couldn’t keep a smile off her face, but she noticed that Malfoy still looked resolutely sullen. Hermione put that out of her mind as she ambled down the hallways, off to her warm, inviting bed in Gryffindor tower.

 

* * *

 

Hermione shuddered slightly as she entered the Great Hall. Just behind her eyelids, she could see it, over and over again: Katie being thrown up in the air, screaming in agony, and then her body falling, seemingly lifelessly, to the ground. Madam Pomfrey had offered Harry, Ron, and Hermione a chance to stay in the hospital wing that day, to deal with the stress of the whole ordeal, but Hermione had declined on the behalf of the trio, insisting that they needed the day to catch up on homework. She wasn’t exactly regretting her decision now, but...

“Look at Malfoy,” Harry grumbled. “Upset that his plan didn’t quite work? Hoping to finish her off?” Hermione sighed.

“Harry, we’ve talked about this. There’s simply no proof that he sent the necklace!”

“You’ve seen how suspicious he’s been acting lately.” Harry was picking at his toast now, tearing it up into little bits instead of eating it. Ron was staring at his eggs, too tired or still too much in shock to opine.

“Well, no, I haven’t, as I haven’t been obsessively watching him like you always are.” That seemed to shut Harry up. “Besides, he’s probably just stressed out because of all the academic pressure he’s under.” Hermione had told Harry and Ron about the valedictorian race the morning after she’d found out. Professor Dumbledore hadn’t told her to keep it a secret, but she got the sense that she shouldn’t go blabbing about it to their entire year.

Harry seemed to done with the topic for the moment—although Hermione knew he wouldn’t let it rest for long—and they finished their breakfast in silence, still contemplating the events that had unfolded on Saturday. When Harry and Ron got up to leave, Hermione told them she would be along in a minute. When she was sure they were gone, she made her way to the Slytherin table.

Malfoy was sitting alone, for which Hermione thanked every god she could think of. She tapped his shoulder lightly to get his attention, and he spun around quickly, jumpily. He relaxed somewhat when he saw who it was.

“What do you want, Granger,” he spat. She tried not to be affronted. This was exactly what she had signed up for, walking over to him. In fact, she had been expecting to be called something worse. She swallowed resolutely before replying.

“I was wondering if you wanted to study together.” She paused. He just stared at her. “You know, the two best students in our year, helping each other out. It could be mutually beneficial.” He finally seemed to snap out of it. For a fraction of a second, Hermione thought she wasn’t going to be spurned and insulted.

“I don’t need the help of a filthy _mudblood_.” She held his icy stare. The fire in his eyes didn’t seem to be burning as harshly as usual, but she must have been imagining it. Well, she certainly didn’t want to help him now. Hermione spun on her heel and made her way up to the Gryffindor common room, where Harry and Ron were still too out of it to wonder why she had been gone.


	2. Human Transfiguration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malfoy briefly has pink hair.

It was Friday. Almost a week had passed since the incident with Katie, but the castle was still tense, somehow, as if the very walls knew that there was more to come. Hermione shivered slightly and pushed these ridiculous thoughts out of her head as Professor McGonagall waved her wand and sent graded tests across the room. Hermione didn’t even need to look at hers to know that it would be an Outstanding, but she did anyway. She couldn’t help but notice the large, red D on Malfoy’s paper across the aisle from her. Part of her wanted to point and laugh at him, to make him feel as horrible as he often made her feel, but she was better than that. So much better than that that she would even re-extend her offer to study together. Partly, she felt bad for him, but mostly, she wanted to win this valedictorian thing fair and square. Based on intellect alone, and not on how well one dealt with the stress of an injured classmate.

“What are you looking so happy for?” Ron asked, in a somewhat strangled voice. Hermione looked over to see the scarlet P on his exam. She pointed at her own high grade, trying not to seem too smug. Usually, she sort of hid her grades from Ron, so that he wouldn’t feel awful in comparison, but she didn’t exactly want to reveal that she was grinning at the prospect of studying with Malfoy. He groaned.

“I just don’t know how you do it, Hermione.”

“Well, staying awake for the duration of class doesn’t hurt,” she answered tartly.

“Come off it, Hermione, you know that’s only Binns...” She shushed him as Professor McGonagall began to address the class. Then, there was only the sound of scratching quills until Professor McGonagall finished the lecture and set them to practicing. Human transfiguration looked to be difficult, so Hermione was rather glad when Harry and Ron paired off as usual. She was interested in keeping her face the way it was, thank you very much. Unfortunately, this left her on her own to find a partner. It wasn’t like she had never had to before; Harry and Ron had spent the past five years working together on every assignment they could. Lavender and Parvati always paired up, and so did Dean and Seamus. Sometimes, Hermione worked with Neville, but he hadn’t made it into NEWT-level transfiguration. The issue hadn’t come up so far this year, as Human Transfiguration was quite difficult, and required weeks of note-taking on the theory of the thing before they could actually attempt it in practice.

Now, as Hermione scanned the room for someone to work with, she locked eyes with Draco Malfoy. He scowled at her, and she noticed that Crabbe and Goyle were absent, as well as Pansy Parkinson. Hermione’s stomach boiled at the thought of her, although she wasn’t exactly sure why the other girl was so much more repulsive than any other Slytherin. She was always hanging on Malfoy’s arm, or stroking his silvery hair... She snapped out of it. While she had been in a staring contest with Malfoy, everyone else in the class had paired off. Hermione internally cursed the heavens as she picked up her things and moved to the empty desk beside him, casting a dejected look at Harry and Ron over her shoulder.

Hermione sat down. Malfoy was staring resolutely at the blackboard, and he kept sighing tersely.

“Look, I’m not exactly thrilled to be working with you, either. Can we just get on with it?”

“Granger, there is no way I’m letting you wave your wand anywhere near this.” He gestured to his face. “I happen to like the way I look, and so do a great many girls.” A smirk played at the edges of his lips. Hermione snorted derisively.

“Come on, Malfoy. It’s the assignment. Besides, I’m not the one who failed our last test. I’m sure Professor McGonagall will be able to right whatever you do to my face.” It was Malfoy’s turn to snort.

“Anything I do would be an improvement.”

“Well, get on with it.” She composed her face into an expressionless mask. Malfoy smirked and raised his wand, muttering something unintelligible.

“Oh– Ow! Agh!” And then she couldn’t talk anymore because her front teeth were growing, and this definitely wasn’t the assignment, and Malfoy was so dead. He was sniggering meanly, but at least he had stopped the spell.

“I told you it would be an improvement.” He would not stop _smirking_ at her, and he looked so satisfied with himself, like this was the utter height of comedy. So unoriginal. “Actually, I see no change.” She could barely get the words to the counterspell out around her enormous front teeth, and he was lucky it took her a little while, because when she finally did, her temper had calmed somewhat. As it was, she was furious.

“Malfoy, you are lucky I care about house points, because I am this close.” She held up her fingers as if there were a knut between them. “This close to– to slapping that smug look right off your face. I’ve done it before, and I’ll bloody well do it again.” Her whisper-shouting seemed to be working. Malfoy’s eyes had softened somewhat, in what looked like fear, or perhaps something else entirely. After a moment, she pushed her hair over her shoulder and straightened her back, adopting her most proper expression.

“Now, will you let me practice? The hour’s almost over, and _I_ have an average to maintain.” Malfoy didn’t have a chance to protest before she turned his eyebrows a vivid pink. “Oooh, I think they look rather nice. Maybe I’ll do the hair, too.” With a flick of her wand, Malfoy’s white-blond hair, his pride and joy, turned bubblegum-pink. Hermione felt a fond tug at her heart, which she assured herself was only because it was the exact same shade that Tonks wore so often.

“Granger, what did you do to me?” Malfoy pulled a lock of his hair so that he could see it in his peripheral vision. He squawked. Literally, squawked. It was such an uncharacteristic thing to do, and at that, combined with the pink hair, Hermione started to laugh. At him, really. She supposed it was rude, but he was just so ridiculous... “I have a reputation at this school! My father will hear about this!” He started trying to turn his hair back to normal, muttering something and jabbing his wand at his head. Clearly, he hadn’t been paying attention in the lesson, because instead of returning to white-blond, his hair spiked up, as if it had been done with hair gel.

“Oh, god, you’ve gone and made it worse,” she said, tittering. “Actually, it looks quite fetching. Maybe I’ll leave it like this.”

“Granger, I will–”

“Patience, Draco.” What was that? What had just come out of her mouth? She cleared her throat. “What I’m trying to say, Malfoy, is that I would like to use the leverage I have. Study with me this afternoon.” Instead of answering, he glared at her. Jabbed his wand at his hair some more, muttering incantations. It wasn’t working.

“I do have a life, you know. Some of us have interests outside of school.”

“Look, Malfoy. It’s either study with me for one afternoon, or walk around with pink hair until someone who actually knows what they’re doing takes pity on you. Actually, if we go over the material, you’d probably be able to fix it yourself,” she added, matter-of-factly.

“Fine.” It sounded more like an exhale than a word, and it was not the polite thanks she might have wanted, but it would do. She smiled.

“Meet at the library after classes?” He grunted in lieu of a response, and she murmured the spell to return his hair back to its former blond glory. He sort of ran his hands through it and it was sort of really hot, and Hermione hated herself very much for entertaining these kinds of thoughts. First of all, she really had no time to pursue romantic prospects, considering the number of NEWTs she was taking. And secondly, more importantly, this was Draco Malfoy. Perhaps the last person in the universe that she should be having these kind of thoughts about. And besides, he and Harry had some serious unresolved sexual tension issues. She did not want to get in the middle of that.

The bell interrupted her musings. She hastily turned Malfoy’s eyebrows back to normal before rushing off with Ron and Harry. They had a free period next, and had taken up the habit of walking her to Arithmancy.

“Hey, Hermione, d’you want to come to the quidditch pitch this afternoon? We’ve got practice,” Ron asked. He always seemed to overestimate how much she cared about quidditch. It was an easy thing to do.

“I can’t, I have to study.”

“You can bring your books and sit in the stands, can’t you?”

“It’s much too cold for that, and anyway, I have to meet someone in the library.”

“Ooh, Hermione. Got a hot date?” Harry jokingly asked, nudging her with his elbow. Her blush gave it away. “Wait, you really do have a hot date?” Ron stopped walking.

“Hurry up, I don’t want to be late. And no, I don’t. I’m meeting Malfoy to go over the transfiguration notes from the past few days. He really seems to be having trouble with it, and I think the stress of this year is getting to him...” She trailed off. Harry and Ron had stopped listening as soon as she said “Malfoy.”

“Hermione, you should stay away from him,” Ron said. “He’s dangerous.” He was always shooting down Harry’s ideas that Malfoy was up to something, but when it came to simply studying, the boy was suddenly the embodiment of evil.

“Ron, I am perfectly capable of looking after myself, thank you very much.”

“I’m just saying, you don’t know that he hasn’t got some ulterior motive for wanting to study with you–”

“What, do you think my company is so _undesirable_ that no one would seek it out? Is it so impossible that I could make a single friend outside of you two?” It didn’t matter that she had forced this study session, Ron was still insinuating that her only value lay with her intellect, and that she would be idiotic enough let anyone take advantage of her.

“No, Hermione, it’s just– I mean, it’s _Malfoy_ , isn’t that reason enough?”

“I can look after myself,” she repeated vehemently, and stalked into the Arithmancy room.

 


	3. A "hot date" at the library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hermione is very angry at Ron, and rightfully so. Unfortunately, it comes to the surface at a rather inconvenient moment.
> 
> This not a hot date. Just to clarify. I don't think I will be writing any hot dates. What even is a hot date. What even is anything.

Professor Vector was talking, but Hermione was only just barely listening. Ron had to go messing with her business, and now he wouldn’t get out of her head, either. Well, maybe he was right. Malfoy had done nothing to deserve the privilege of her company, in fact he had done quite the opposite over the years. She felt some odd camaraderie with him over this valedictorian thing, but that was all the affection for him she would ever house. Yes, she would study with him this one time, just to honor the commitment, and that would be the end of it.

The rest of her life dealt with, she could now fully tune in to the lesson. Hermione was back to her usual self, volunteering to answer nearly every question. The period flew by in no time. When the bell rang, she gathered her things quickly. She could catch up to Ron and Harry if she hurried, and maybe this would be the year that they worked through their disagreements like adults, instead of not speaking to one another for days or even weeks at a time.

She saw Ron’s familiar flaming hair across the entrance hall. He and Harry were carrying their brooms and heading for the door. She ran across the hall and tapped him on the shoulder. Catching her breath, she stood there beaming at him for a moment before he spoke.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” His lazy grin vanished when he saw her.

“I– Ron, it’s just this once, it’s not going to be–” But he was walking away. She turned to Harry, indignant. He shrugged at her sadly and went after Ron. Hermione stood there for a moment, stewing in her rage, until she realized she really did have somewhere to be. She hitched her bag higher up on her shoulder and stalked off to the library.

When Hermione walked through the doors, she immediately felt soothed. By the rows and rows of books, by the dust motes lazily floating in the rays of sunshine that streamed in through the high windows, by the heavy silence that seemed to press down on them, like air pressure itself. There was still ire within her, but the pot was at a gentle simmer now, whereas it had been at a rolling boil minutes before.

She scanned the room for a certain head of platinum-blond hair. Its owner was seated alone at the table farthest away from the desk of Madam Pince. Malfoy looked resolutely sullen. Like just being there was sucking the soul out of him. Maybe it was. This had all been a huge mistake. But she just couldn’t stomach the prospect of Ron’s smug _I told you so_ , so she pressed forward. Walked over, pulled up a chair. She didn’t say hello, but nodded her head, like she had some semblance of coolness. He nodded back. The gestures gave way to an awkward sort of _presence_ , something almost tangible in the air between them, a blanket heavier than the quiet of the library.

Hermione opened her transfiguration book, and closed it again. She twirled her quill between her fingers. Apparently Malfoy noticed.

“What’s up with you, Granger?” The way he spat her name, it was almost like a swear word. Anything that came out of his mouth could sound like an insult. She wondered if he was even capable of kind words towards her, and had to stop herself from imagining it. “Afraid I’ll bite?” That was enough. That was it. The thing that was steaming inside of her boiled over, and, unfortunately for Malfoy, he was near enough to be scalded by the water.

“I am so fucking sick of this.” She would have been shouting had they not been in the library. Even when she was losing her cool, Hermione did not dare disturb the library’s quiet. “I have had enough. Enough of you, enough of Ron, enough of everyone thinking I’m weak. Because I’m a girl. Because I’m _only a bloody teenager_. Because I spend half my life with my head in a book. I don’t know why. But I can take care of myself, damn Ron.” Her voice was rising a little now, somewhat outside of her control. It was too much. It had all been bottled up for so long, and it had to come out. “He’s mad, I swear. He so bleeding over-protective, when I told him I was coming to study with you, he practically went mental! I don’t know what he thinks is going to happen, exactly, I’m not an idiot! I don’t even know why we’re friends. Without Harry, we would’ve had a massive row years ago, I mean even worse than we’ve had. Oooh, I can’t stand him. Is it so much to ask? For him to fucking take me seriously? Can’t I–”

Hermione was interrupted by a loud _shhh_. She blushed furiously, and turned around to find Madam Pince craning her long neck to glare at her. She sank low in her seat, not looking at Malfoy. The palpable tension had never really left, but it seemed to magnify in the minute before he spoke. He cleared his throat, a smirk playing across his lips.

“Well, this has been fun. See you in class, Granger.” Her name sounded different on his tongue. Softer somehow. She desperately hoped it wasn’t pity in his voice, although she didn’t know what else it could be.

That had been, to say the least, quite embarrassing. Of all the people to be on the receiving end of her spilled guts, it had had to be Malfoy, and of the all the places it had had to be the library. But there was nothing to do but put it behind her. Now that he was gone, maybe she could do some actual studying. She opened her book again.

But she couldn’t focus. It was Ron and Malfoy, pinging around her head. She was angry, and confused, and there was some other emotion in the mix, but she couldn’t quite place it. It was rather unfamiliar, and that was rather worrying. She tried to focus on the section in the textbook on human transfiguration, but she just kept picturing Malfoy with pink hair. It was funny, that was the only reason she kept playing it over and over again in her mind’s eye. Not because it was incredibly attractive. Well, perhaps there was no use skating around it. Perhaps she should just accept that Draco Malfoy was devilishly attractive, even if he was a class-A prick. There was nothing wrong with conceding that. In fact, she was positive that many girls, and a few boys, at the school would agree with her wholeheartedly. That set her mind at ease somewhat.

But the fact of Malfoy’s good looks did not fully explain why she could not get him out of her head. There were plenty of attractive boys that she could think of, both at Hogwarts and in the muggle world. But they weren’t relentlessly occupying her headspace. Well, Ron was doing that too, and he was certainly not an object of her fancy. Just thinking about him made her quake with anger again, and she decided not to forgive him, no matter how many pleading looks Harry gave her in the coming weeks, and no matter how juvenile they seemed. That seemed to satiate her mind somewhat, leaving only Malfoy on it. She still couldn’t place the foreign feeling that she had thinking about him, and with this unsolved emotional mystery she couldn’t seem to get any work done. She sighed and put away her books for the day. Good thing she had the whole weekend. It was a good thing she wouldn’t be writing any essays for Ron this year, either. She would need all the time she could get.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I choose to set this in sixth year, the only book I don't own, in spanish or english? Great decision. Really great.
> 
> Leave a comment if you liked it, or if you didn't. That would be cool. Especially if you could let me know what you think of the end of this chapter. I'm afraid it was too long-winded and thought-y.
> 
> It might be a while before the next chapter comes out. There's a difficult scene involved and I've got a big test coming up.


	4. As normal as things could ever be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I've captured the characters alright here. The first scene was definitely tough for me to write.

It was later. Substantially later. March first. A seemingly innocuous date, but a rather significant one for a certain Ron Weasley. Hermione had picked this day to truly reconcile with him. They had been back on speaking terms for months, of course, but their relationship had remained somewhat frosty, and she had no desire for this to continue. So, at the last Hogsmeade visit, she had bought him a bag heaping full of Honeydukes’ chocolate to give to him for his birthday. She had been saving it for the evening, but things hadn’t really panned out as expected.

So, here she was now, sitting next to his bed in the hospital wing and trying not to cry. He had almost died after drinking poisoned mead, and they would have never had a chance to mend their relationship. It was too much, and she began to sob quietly into her sleeve. No one would hear her; Harry had gone to talk to Professor Dumbledore, and Ron was asleep.

“Hermione?” Ron said groggily, propping himself up on his forearm and rubbing his eyes. Hermione began to cry in earnest, and he tried to comfort her awkwardly. “It’s alright, I’m not dead. Very alive. That’s me.”

“It’s just–” Her voice was wobbly with tears, but she pressed on. “If you’d d-died, and we’d b-been fighting, I just couldn’t–” Ron got up gingerly (Ha. Gingerly.) and sat beside her on the chair, putting his arm around her shoulders.

“Well, I guess we just can’t fight anymore.” That made her laugh, shakily. She pressed her face into his shoulder, and he just felt so warm and safe that she wanted to stay there forever. He seemed to be okay with that.

Ron mumbled something into her hair.

“What?” She lifted her head and smiled at him. His ears turned bright red.

“I, er, love you.”

“I love you, too,” she answered, almost automatically. Relief flashed across Ron’s face, and red faded from his ears. Ron was speaking platonically, right? She certainly was. It would be incredibly awkward to have to spurn his advances, especially right after they had made up.

He was staring into her eyes with almost painful intensity, and she had a very bad feeling that he was going to try and kiss her. She didn’t want that to happen, but she couldn’t seem to break away from this trance-like state, so she just stared back at him. He gently raised a hand to brush a stray tear off her cheek, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

He leaned in. He must have taken her closed eyes as an encouragement, and her strained expression as one filled with nerves, or butterflies, or something similarly mushy. He was wrong. There was no mistaking where he was leaning to, and for what reason. Hermione pushed him away, as gently as she could manage. She felt like crying again. She swallowed.

“Ron, I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” Her voice was barely above a murmur. His ears were aflame again and he couldn’t meet her eyes.

“You don’t by any chance mean just not now?” His voice was even smaller.

She shook her head and took a deep breath. This had to be definite, without room for misinterpretation, and it had to be tactful. “Ron, you’re my best friend. And I hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us, but I just don’t feel the same. I understand if you need some time, but I want us to be friends again.” She forced herself to look into his eyes. He didn’t seem to be taking it too poorly... “Do you want me to go?”

“I, yeah, I, er, need some time,” he said morosely.

“See you later?”

“Yeah. Later.”

She half-ran out of the hospital wing, and even made it most of the way to Gryffindor tower before bursting into tears for the nth time that day. It was too much, it was all too much. She had almost lost Ron, only for things to be potentially ruined between them all over again because of bloody unrequited love. She wished she could reciprocate his feelings. It would be easy, loving Ron. It would be like their friendship, full of laughter and warmth, but it would lack a spark. And Hermione Jean Granger deserved a spark, a madcap romance.

It wouldn’t do, stewing on this all day. There was nothing to be done. So, upon returning to the girls’ dormitory, Hermione retrieved her books and set off to the library. Just because her best friend had almost died didn’t mean they didn’t have an potions exam in the morning.

* * *

Things went back to normal. Or, as normal as they could ever be at a magical school in the middle of nowhere. Sometimes, it would hit Hermione all over again just how strange this all was, and how lucky she was to have been born into the wizarding world. It was still amazing to cast spells, to live in a castle, and even to have friends that she spent almost every waking moment with. Although recently, with the impending end of the school year, quidditch had been picking up, and so had homework levels, and Hermione found herself spending long hours without said friends at the library. Not that she minded.

Today was shaping up to be just like any other. Harry and Ron were out on the quidditch pitch, and Hermione was headed to the library. However, when she got there, she could see that she wouldn’t be getting much studying done. There were students occupying almost every table, and their cumulative whispers created a sheet of white noise that not even Madam Pince’s shushings could stamp out. To make matters worse, Hermione could only see a few empty seats in the whole place. In fact, there was a whole table vacant, save one chair. Its occupant was probably the reason for that.

Sighing, Hermione pulled out the chair across from Draco Malfoy. She gave him a forced smile as she sat down and pulled out her books.

“Malfoy, yesterday was the last time I am _ever_ covering prefect duties for you,” she said, looking at her notes instead of at him. Hmm, with all his missed prefect work, his steeply dropping grades, and his loss of interest in quidditch, maybe Harry had a point. Perhaps he really was up to something. “Although, I might be persuaded to change my mind if I knew exactly _why_ you couldn’t be bothered to show up. Busy doing something important? Or some _one_ important?”

“No, I haven’t even got a girlfriend,” he snarled. She felt relief flood through her veins. Not because she was interested in him, obviously. It was just, this meant he could still be plotting something nefarious. Besides, it was nice to know that he wasn’t doing any better than her in the relationship department.

“And how about that quidditch match last Sunday?” she asked.

“What about it,” he drawled, not even bothering to make it sound like a question.

“You weren’t there. I know for a fact you weren’t in the hospital wing, because I went to get something from Madam Pomfrey right before the match.” It had been tampons. But that wasn’t important. “And Slytherin’s backup seeker is rubbish. Whatever you were up to must’ve been pretty crucial in order to let your team get steamrollered by Hufflepuff.”

He didn’t answer. Then, he took a deep breath, and when he spoke, it was in a monotone, and it sounded like the words were causing him great pain.

“Will you help me study for the transfiguration exam this week?” Her heart skipped a beat. _Hermione, play it cool_. There was a fairly good chance he was using this to distract her from needling him further. But she really did feel bad for him; he looked exhausted all the time, and his skin was sallower than usual. Maybe she could even use this opportunity to make him let his guard down. She couldn’t make this seem too easy, though.

“Why would I help someone that has been nothing but rude to me for six years, even when I’ve reached out?”

“I’m going to fail the course if I don’t get some help, alright?” He looked so terrified, so vulnerable all of a sudden, that she didn’t want to drag this out any longer.

“Alright. I’ll help you.”

So she did. Malfoy really wasn’t that awful at transfiguration. Well, of course he wasn’t, he had been in the running for Valedictorian just months ago. That was distant memory now, what with how school was going for him this year. He only needed to get back into the swing of things. After a few minutes of awkwardness and quite a few darkly muttered comments from Malfoy that were _just_ too low for her to hear, they got into a good rhythm, and actually made quite a lot of progress. It wasn’t until an hour later, when Hermione’s stomach rumbled, that she got up to leave.

“Malfoy, I think you’ve gone an entire hour without insulting my blood status,” she said as she packed up her things. Not including whatever he had been muttering under his breath the first few minutes of it. She didn’t want to know. “I’m impressed.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he sneered. “Don’t get used to this. This was a one-time thing, Granger. I’m not going to spend all my time with a mud– A muggleborn. Okay?”

She nodded, and left, somewhat in shock at his decision to opt out of using the slur. He had still spit the word harshly, as if it were an insult, but it appeared as though he was actually making an effort. Maybe she hadn’t been so keen on it initially, but Hermione would have been perfectly fine continuing to study with Malfoy now. She liked that his views were shifting a little more into the realm of tolerant (a girl could dream), but she also liked the little brushes of her fingers against his as she pointed out a line in the text, or when their arms brushed as they hunched over the table. The fact that she even entertained these kinds of thoughts just demonstrated how much she still clearly hated herself. She deserved better, so much better. Someone who was not even phased by her blood status, not someone who would still vaguely insult it, and someone who actually wanted to spend time with her when they weren’t in danger of failing out of transfiguration. But the spark was undeniable. It was what she had been missing with Ron; it was what she craved. Still, she couldn’t do this to herself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should the valedictorian subplot make a substantial comeback? It's not really a major part in my outline, but I could make some changes.


	5. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go to the rock near the lake. To do some (more) studying.  
> And then some other stuff happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank my friend, who helped me with the last chapter. I know you probably won't be reading this dedication, friend. But I feel like I should acknowledge you anyway.
> 
> On an unrelated note, I noticed that I have been making a small grammatical mistake. I'm not going to go back and fix it in the other chapters, but I did things correctly in this last one.

The next time, they studied outside.

“Granger. I need help. The massive rock near the lake, four-fifteen,” he had said to her one day after double potions.

She’d raised an eyebrow. “I thought this was supposed to be one-time thing.”

“Well, if I want sixth year potions to be a one-time thing, I need some bloody help.”

It was unseasonably warm for April. Hermione was leaning against a large boulder, facing the lake. Malfoy was sitting next to her, with his sleeves buttoned up at the cuffs even though his face was flushed with heat. Just looking at him made Hermione hot, and she rolled up her own sleeves.

They set to work. The only sound was the scratch of quills on parchment, the soft lapping waters of the lake, and the occasional turn of a page. The relative silence was deafening. Finally, Hermione broke it.

“Aren’t you hot?”

“You tell me.” He smirked.

She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. “No, I mean, you’ve got your sleeves all the way rolled down, you must be sweltering.” If she were Harry, she might have thought Malfoy was trying to conceal a certain something on his left wrist. But she wasn’t. This was a sixteen-year-old boy she was dealing with, not a Death Eater.

“I’m fine,” he said defensively.

Okay, maybe this was a little suspicious. There was a bead of sweat on Malfoy’s forehead that was threatening to roll down his face. He wiped it away surreptitiously.

“Really, I think you might be able to focus better if you weren’t scorching.”

“It’s not _me_ being scorching that’s the problem,” he said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

Wait, what? He must be trying to distract her. Because, well, right now at least, Hermione _wasn’t_ scorching, or hot. She could picture just how she looked. She had shed her tie and uniform sweater to reveal a simple white button-down underneath, and she was almost positive her hair was bushier than usual. She could imagine cute, or maybe even pretty, but hot was not on the list of adjectives she would use to describe herself in this moment. Definitely not on the list Draco Malfoy would use to describe her in _any_ moment. The only explanation was that he was trying to steer the conversation away from himself, and away from the dark mark that was definitely hidden under his rolled-up sleeves. And she could not let this opportunity slip through her fingers.

“I read this study, actually, that being only a few degrees cooler substantially increases brain function.” She hadn’t, but that didn’t matter. “Merely exposing your forearms to the breeze could achieve that.”

“Granger, are you going to ignore the fact that I just called you hot? Because that’s not exactly an everyday occurrence,” he said, almost lazily, and his words combined with the quirk of his lips were enough to deter her from her course.

“I, er, thanks?” she said, blinking. Could he actually be serious?

There was a lull in the conversation. Hermione picked up her quill again.

Malfoy cleared his throat. “I was wrong,” he said, like it cost him something.

“About?”

“Not needing help again, looking awful with pink hair, and, oh, I don’t know, that half the wizarding population is inferior due to blood status,” he said with such lack of cadence that it took a moment to sink in.

Hermione had to take a moment to process this. She put down her quill. Draco Malfoy, voluntarily admitting he was wrong. Draco Malfoy, taking back his prejudices. Maybe even trying to become a better person. And maybe because of her. It was almost too much to believe.

She nodded.

He lifted his left arm, almost like he was going to unbutton his sleeve, or maybe slide it around her shoulder, and when Hermione felt herself tense, she wasn’t sure of which it was in anticipation. He did, however, neither. Malfoy caught her eye like he knew what she was thinking.

She cleared her throat forcedly. “Sorry about before. It’s just, Harry is always so suspicious of you, and I can’t help believing it myself sometimes.”

“I get it. I’m in Slytherin, my parents are Death Eaters, and all my friends will be soon too. It’s all people see when they look at me. But that’s not who I am anymore.”

He was staring off at the lake, and she was staring at him, unafraid.

“I see who you are now.”

They locked eyes. For an iota of a second Hermione thought that he might be leaning in, and she knew that this time she would not back away.

But he didn’t. Instead, Draco grinned and turned back toward the open water, pulling the textbook back onto his lap. Hermione did the same.

She couldn’t help but wish the moment had ended rather differently. Thoughts of what it might have been like clouded her mind as she tried to study. She had never kissed anyone before, which had never seemed like a particularly troublesome notion until now. What would it be like? Harry had described his kiss with Cho as wet. But Draco must have been experienced in this field; he would know what to do. Potion-Making was pushed out of her head by these scandalous thoughts.

“I’ve got to go.”

He looked up.

She left.

Hermione didn’t exactly have somewhere to be, but if she had stayed there, sitting next to the lake with Draco Malfoy, she would have embarrassed herself terribly. Because now, now she could not deny this to herself any more: Hermione Granger was enamored with Draco Malfoy. And he really was someone good these days, and his smirk was just so alluring, and maybe he even liked her back?

Too late, Hermione realized that they had not set another date. (Date? These weren’t dates. Right?) Well, it wasn’t like they never saw each other. Things could be arranged. They weren’t–at least not for a while–but they could have been.

* * *

Spring turned into early summer, and Hermione did not want to instigate things, and apparently neither did Draco. But they would pass each other in the halls, or make eye contact across a classroom. When he was around her, at least, she did not hear the word “mudblood” escape from his mouth once. He was still sallow and tired-looking all the time, but Hermione didn’t let suspicion get to her. When Harry would postulate ridiculous schemes that he might be up to, Hermione shot them down. She offered no explanation to her friends as to why she was so vehement about this, but Ron gave her warning looks, which she ignored.

Hermione had never really allowed herself to fall so head-over-heels for someone. She had always prided herself on maintaining a level head, and had tried so hard not to think _I’m not like other girls_ , because she was a feminist, goddammit, and she wasn’t going to engage in that bullshit. She was exactly like other girls, like other _humans_ , so when she found the right person, it was like a light switch.

It took substantial effort to keep a ridiculous grin off her face whenever she saw him or heard his voice. So when he did call her name one day, she almost didn’t react.

“Hey, Granger. Hermione,” he said when she didn’t look up.

“Er, yeah?”

“I need help with this thing for, uh, Charms. Extra credit.”

Hermione was slightly miffed. Professor Flitwick hadn’t told _her_ about extra credit. Although she probably wasn’t threatening to fail his class. She nodded.

“Meet at eight in the seventh floor corridor, near the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.”

“Okay. See you then,” she said, allowing a small smile.

* * *

She arrived early, but so did he. He was jumpy, and Hermione wondered if it was her fault. But Draco always looked on edge these days.

“I’ve been storing it in the room of requirement, actually,” he said, walking back and forth across the hall. “It’s rather large. You’ll see.”

A door materialized in the wall in front of them. Draco opened it, and they went inside. Immediately, Hermione was assaulted by the view. There were veritable mountains of _junk_ from wall to wall, some stretching to the ceiling, which was even higher than it had been when they had held the DA meetings. Brightly colored books, congealed potions, broken broomsticks, and other objects, amazingly varied, littered every available surface. This must have been the room Harry had told her and Ron about, where he had hidden the Prince’s awful book. She had been afraid he might go back for it, but it seemed as though it would be impossible to find even if he tried.

Draco held out his hand, but seemed to think better of it, and pulled back before she could take it. “Follow me,” he said curtly. He led her through the maze, winding around and around until they finally reached an ancient-looking cabinet that was big enough for a person to fit inside. It was almost a wardrobe, really. He opened the it hurriedly, and Hermione felt a twinge of familiarity at the ornate design snaking across the doors.

“I’ve been trying to repair it so that I can let– get extra credit,” he grunted, prying back a panel in the bottom. “But I can’t quite seem to fix this last bit.”

He sounded a little desperate, and Hermione understood; it would be a nightmare to have to retake Charms. Any qualms she had about helping him dissipated. She drew her wand.

“I think I know what to do,” she said, waiting for his approval.

He nodded, and she stepped forward, pointing her wand at the cabinet’s inner workings and muttering incantations under her breath. Little blue sparks danced around the edges of the paneling, and she could almost hear metaphysical cogs click into place.

“That should do it.”

Draco bent forward, inspecting the smooth wood. “Thanks.”

There was a sort of grim smile taking over his face, which was a little unsettling.

“What does this thing do, anyway? It looks so familiar, I feel like I must’ve seen it before.” Wait. Maybe she had. Her mind was reeling back, searching for the ornate swirls that covered the cabinet’s doors, and there it was. Months ago, in Knockturn Alley. At Borgin and Burke’s. She had given it merely a passing glance, but the cabinet was identical to the one sitting before her.

“Oh, it’s a vanishing cabinet,” he replied offhandedly.

Huh. A vanishing cabinet. She had read about these. This unit connected, no doubt, with the one in Knockturn Alley. There was no way Professor Flitwick would have given this assignment, knowing the location of the other one. So, either the professor didn’t know about the connection, or he didn’t know about the cabinet at all. Had she just repaired an object that could be used to bring outsiders into the castle? And since its partner was in Knockturn Alley, dangerous outsiders?

“And Professor Flitwick wanted you to fix it?”

Draco nodded, clearly oblivious to Hermione’s revelations.

“Did he mention where he’d got it from?”

“No,” Draco said, narrowing his eyes. “Why do you ask?”

There was no reason not to tell this new-and-improved Draco Malfoy. He had seemed so earnest down at the lake, and she could really see that he was trying to be a better person. She would ask him about the cabinet’s twin, just to get it off her mind.

“Do you know where the other one is?”

“No,” he lied.

It would have been a bad lie even if Hermione hadn’t already known it was false. So, okay, this was not good, and she had maybe just created a bridge between Hogwarts and a dark wizard’s shop, and all she could think about was that he had lied to her. Had possibly been lying to her this whole time. But this lie, this one was different. It was almost as if he wasn’t even trying. Then it dawned on her.

“Was this your plan all along?” she murmured.

The stab of betrayal must have shown on her face, because he smirked. The jig was up, and he didn’t even care.

“Well, I really did need to stay afloat in school,” he said, clearing the debris from around the bottom of the cabinet with his foot. “This part was unexpected. I mean, I thought I’d be able to fix the bloody thing myself. It was an added bonus for you to put on the finishing touches, though, so you’ll be stuck with the guilt.”

“The guilt?”

He gave a short laugh. “Don’t tell me you haven’t figured it all out. The brightest witch in her age can’t even see what’s right under her nose. Tonight is the night, Granger. The night your precious castle will fall to the Dark Lord, and your beloved headmaster will die.”

It was too much. She had done this, had let her heart get in the way of her head, and now Hogwarts would pay. If she hadn’t repaired the vanishing cabinet, no one would have died, and this was all her fault.

“How could you?”

He laughed at her again. “It was easy. Just run my hands through my hair,” He did. “hint at changing my allegiances. Cake, Granger, it was cake. Stringing you along was another fun extra.”

“You were– You were manipulating me this whole time?”  
“You played right into my hands. Taking pity on me? Asking me to study with you?” He had to stop speaking in order to snigger. “I should thank you, really.”

She brandished her wand at him. “Thank me! Malfoy, I will–”

He cut her off, his voice ringing across the room. “It won’t matter.” His eyes were not alive with malice, but dull with fear, and maybe sorrow. “They’re coming, whether I’m alive or not. I’ve fulfilled my duty, and soon I’ll no longer be of use.”

He was right. Perhaps there would be time later, for vengeance and for indulging in guilt, but the best Hermione could do now was to warn the others. She gave Malfoy one last lingering look and sprinted from the room.

Blood was pounding in her ears as she raced through the castle, and she could hear, even more urgently than the situation at hand, Ron’s impending “I told you so.”

 ****  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to formally apologize for the end. You probably signed on for fun dramione and I gave you fun manipulation instead. Sorry, sorry, sorry. It just had to happen. Feel free to yell at me in the comments if you are so inclined.


End file.
